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“Let’s meet here every night,” I say. His gorgeous toes are on the piano keys and he starts making music and we laugh.
“Imagine all the music we can write,” he says with a smirk.
A distinct rustling sound catches my attention, and I worry perhaps we’re being watched.
Is it Vincent? I look over at the door to the conservatory room, but no one is there. He could have been though, seconds earlier before the noise faded to silence.
Nathan caresses my face as he studies me, his brows furrowed in concern. “You okay?”
“Yes,” I say and I rise up on top of him. All twelve inches of his cock slides inside of me, filling me to the hilt.
I ride him slowly, building my momentum to a steady and hard pace. His rough hands keep a tight grip around my hips, his fingers probing roughly into my flesh. I look down and gaze into his brown eyes and the lustful darkness in his appearance sends me over the edge. I circle my hips, grinding against his thick length, but suddenly my eyes cut to the door again. Why am I so paranoid?
Nathan stills inside me and tightens his grip on my hip. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
I nod and focus on working my pussy up and down his length. Then I rise up again and ride him and ride him and ride him, harder and harder and harder.
My core tightens as heat rushes through me, my orgasm right on the cusp of explosion. Nathan’s lips part as he wraps his long fingers around my neck, his thumb pressing into my throat as he takes control of each thrust he pounds up into me. His back bows off the piano and his face contorts painfully as he spills inside of me. A ravenous roar rips through his chest, spurring a whimpered mewl from my lips as my orgasm crashes into his release. I collapse against his chest and look outside at the garden. The sky is a brighter blue now. Nathan’s breathing is rampant as he calms himself, peppering kisses across my face and neck just as he always does after we’ve had sex.
“When did you start having trouble sleeping?” I ask. We sit up, and I drink a gulp of his whiskey. I pass it to him, and he takes a few swigs then passes it back to me.
“When I was about fourteen.”
“Did anything happen before then?”
He has his arm draped around my lower back and my face is against his chest. He takes his time answering me. I think this is hard for him to talk about.
He squeezes me and kisses the top of my head.
“I don’t know…” he says.
Morning breaks through the sky with a bird’s song and just like night has ended, so has Nathan’s dark story. He’s not going to talk about it anymore, but at the same time, he’s started to open up to me, and I appreciate it. I want to show him how much I appreciate it.
“Nathan,” I whisper. He looks at me; his eyes are sleepy and soft. I run my fingers through his hair, straightening it out.
“You don’t get up early ever do you? You’re not a morning person,” I say. He looks at me with a stare that holds a lot of stillness. Our clothes are still all over the conservatory. I’m a little nervous that someone will come in here, because this is the choice room to have breakfast or sip on that first delicious morning cup of joe.
But nothing is going to ruin this for me. I want to do it to him now, and I want to do it to him in this room.
He is lying across the top of the piano. There’s so much I want to ask him, and not just about whatever it was that happened in his childhood to start such bad dreams.
“Did you have a piano when you were a kid?” I ask him.
“Uhhh…” His voice is groggy and raspy this time of morning. Oh my. It gets me wet. I run my hand along his body and down his smooth ripped chest.
“Yeah, well, my mom did.”
I can already smell breakfast being whipped up—delicious eggs, biscuits, gravy, sausage and bacon. My favorite part is the grapefruit, honestly, but Vincent’s love for meatier breakfasts has me trying more savory thing every once in a while. I could go for some orange juice after this long night of lovemaking.
But there’s another kind of juice I want first.
I run my hands down his length, feeling the heaviness of his cock and balls. I crawl to my knees and trail my tongue up his cock and over the opening.
“Oh…” His body lifts from the piano in a graceful wave of appreciation.
“Baby,” I say. I trace my finger over his stomach, making the shape of a heart with it.
